Stages: Bella's Journal
by BellaBeth222
Summary: A companion to my story Stages. Bella had something absolutely horrible happen to her. She can't tell anyone, not even her best friend Alice. To help her cope, she starts a journal. This is her story
1. Entry 1

A/N: This is strictly a companion piece to my story Stages. It is written in a very abstract form as all journals and diaries are. It will make no sense if you don't read Stages first. I will only post a new journal entry after an important scene in stages to give you some kind of understanding of Bella's state of mind. Just remember. You will know more than Edward at first. So if you like my story as is, please pass on the journal.

I am here only to serve you wonderful readers.

BTW- I don't own anything other than a mortgage.

Bella's Journal

I am broken. There is no other word to describe me. And I can't even place all the blame on him. I'm the one that got drunk. I'm the one that sat in the room when the bong was being passed around, knowing full well that even though I didn't take a pull, I was breathing in the shit that lingered in the air. I let him direct me to his room, where he said I could sleep it off. I don't remember drinking that much. I have only been this drunk before once. It was high school and then I drank with a purpose. I wanted to forget what an ass Mike was.

Thinking back though, the situations are completely different. Then, it was just after playing miniature golf with my friends and ex-boyfriend, Mike. He kept making comments, suggestions in front of everyone, that I was loose, a slut. I was never special to him. I didn't mean anything to him. I remember, we were on the back nine of the cheesy mini-put when he put his club handle down in to the hole and swirled it around and around, looking dead at me, mouthing the words, slut and bitch and whore.

The most comical thing about it is that I never had sex with Mike. I chickened out every time. I wanted to. All those raging hormones coursing through my system, I wanted nothing more than to join the club, the club all my friends belonged too. But I couldn't. I wouldn't take that last step, and Mike hated me for it. When his patience ran out, he called me a tease; he mocked me, making me feel inadequate and faulty. He wanted me to suffer, to make me feel dirty. And he did, even though everything he said was a lie.

What happened last night, at the fraternity house was also dirty and ugly, but in a completely different way. But I knew this feeling. I remembered it from high school. But this time, I could clearly see the signs. I could only blame him for so much. I had drunk the beer. I had gone into his bedroom. I didn't just go home.

He took complete advantage of me and I let him. I said no, but not loud enough. I struggled, but with no strength. I let this happened. And after everything was said and done, all I could think about was Mike's words from high school. I was a slut. I was inadequate. Something was wrong with me.

The more you review, the more I write..... Yeah, I know it's blackmail but you guys are my muse...


	2. Entry 2 Same Day

**A/N I am so so sorry. RL tried to take over, but I was able to lock it in a closet for a few hours. This takes place the same day, but give you a little insight as to Bella's feelings for Edward**

I have taken 3 showers. I don't think my skin can get any more raw. Even the excessive use of Dove moisturizing body wash is now making me nauseous. My skin is even sore to the touch. And that is not including the bruises I have.

I tried looking in the mirror. But that was the third time I threw up. Fortunately that was in the bathroom. One quick flush and the memory was gone. The other times, I had to fricking wash out my garbage pail.

Here's a thought. I'm not a Catholic. I didn't go to church every Sunday, but I still feel a burn of guilt in my chest if I say Fuck..... or Damn, or ....... Christ. But somehow shit doesn't bother me. I think that is the epitome of ironic. I guess I was too busy spending my winter at the ski slopes or summers at the pool to truly rationalize the psychological ramifications of curse words. My parent would be proud, though, thinking that the reason I didn't swear was because of my upstanding christian upbringing.

It was great having Alice with me. But then it really sucked. I hate getting sick. I will do anything in my mental power to avoid the vomiting scenario. One time in high school I stayed up all night, hunched over the bathroom sink, telling myself, " I was not going to throw up..... I was not going to throw up." That was another epiphany for me. Mind over body really does work.

Alice really was great. Anyone else would have started dry heaving at the smell and the sound. She just held my hair back. Sad to say, but that is the mark of a true friend.

I know she wanted to help me. She kept trying to get me to talk. But what the hell was I going to tell her. I sure as hell wasn't going to say anything when he was there.

God, why the hell did she have to get him. It's not God at work. It's the Devil. Or maybe some freaky manifestation. The absolute last thing I wanted to was to see him and his indescribable green eyes.

I was mortified. Horrified. Beyond the definition of ashamed. He bursted into the room, with Alice on his heals, and.......... he brings me the garbage pail..

Yeah, the greek god, I have admired from afar,........... brings me a "Garbage Pail"

Now I am seriously questioning the concept of God.

..........................................................................................................................................................................

After my shower and final time emptying my stomach contents, I can't help but lay here in my bed. Alice is gone. The TV is off. My stereo is quiet. I don't even have the fortitude to listen to my IPod. I want to escape into oblivion. Forget everything ever happen.

Ironically, it's not just last night I want to purge from my memory, but the brilliant green eyes. The ones that shot right thought me this morning as I puked unceremoniously into the standard issue waste pail.

I have followed him for two years He is out of my league. An untouchable. But there he was. In my room, handing me a frickin garbage pail.

When he handed me the water bottle, I thought there was something. In his eyes. Not disgusted (because who wouldn't be disgusted at watching someone throw up) Not sympathy. I really don't even think it was compassion.

What ever it was, it helped. It helped calm my stomach. It helped me stay strong when Alice tried to drag me out of my room for food. It kept me from sinking...... sinking into the ludicrous thoughts that threatened to consume me after......... after what I let happen last night.

It was almost dinnertime, and I still was holding on to those eyes. I needed them. I cried for them. They were the only thing that helped me from falling............

A/N The more review I get, the more pressure I can put on my DH to take care of my 3 boys so I can write. Please Please help..........


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Again I own nothing. But to really understand this story, you need to read Stages. This is strictly a companion piece. Also it is in total journal form, so don't be too negative about it's grammar. How may of you, proofread your diary.

Journal Entry 3

I slept.

I wasn't planning on it. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to close my eyes and have my mind go there again.

But I did sleep and I didn't have any dreams.

I skipped all my classes. It's totally not like me. I don't think one professor would chastise me for it. Alice called. Again. I didn't answer. I love caller ID.

I don't have a TV in my room. All day it's been me, my thoughts, my body and my IPod. My mom gave it to me. It was the most useful gift she's ever given me.

It's dark out now.

I am so exhausted and tired and sore and sad. My windows are open. In some bizarre twist I'm hoping the cold breeze will make the memory of his fingers on my arms disappear.

I hear something now. God, love my window. For the first time today I'm grateful. My only window's open and through it I can hear him playing. How embarrassing it would be if he knew I listened to him every time he played in the lounge.

I always got a kick out of hearing the girls on my floor talk about him and how dreamy he was and how awesome he plays. I could tell from their voices that they were just dying to meet him.

Fortunately for me, I know him. Well to be honest. I knew him. He was so sweet and carefree. He would be mesmerized by a falling leaf and quote Byron. He had the quirkiest sense of humor. Then he changed.

I still watched him, move from girl to girl to girl. Alice was always making little comment about his "whoring" ways. I never knew what to make of her verbal observations. Personally, I hoped she didn't mention him at all. His green eyes became glossy with film during his junior year. I avoided him actually. I hated seeing his emeralds dull.

They weren't dull when he came into my room this morning. They were bright and alive and concerned. Alice's eyes showed pity. Edwards, empathy.

I guess that's why I went to the lounge last night. He didn't notice me at first. Small miracles. I know I must have embarrassed him when he realized he wasn't alone. He didn't show it. I'm happy he continued playing. That last song was beautiful. I never saw the cartoon Camelot movie, but I have heard that song. Maybe today at work, I'll look up the lyrics.

On the walk back, I know he saw my arms. How could he not? I had to be a frickin' klutz. If only I had worn long sleeves. I won't make that mistake tomorrow.

He didn't say anything though. I don't know why? Alice would have jumped down my throat in her ultimate quest for knowledge of all things.

Maybe it's because he didn't question. He didn't pressure me. He didn't ask the unanswerable questions. I think that's why I asked him to keep an eye out for me. I didn't want to dream. I sure as hell didn't want to wake up the dorm. He seemed to be the only one to understand and accept without a full dissertation.

He promised to keep me safe. That's why I slept. I slept because he was watching me. I slept because the memory of his music was still imbedded in my brain as I closed my eyes.

I hope I get to sleep today.

Please Please Please Review. That is the only way I can write more. I need a legitimate excuse to ditch my hubby and write. Also, coming up it the entry that explains why she is so upset in an upcoming chapter of Stages.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Own nothing. You all should now who does.

Journal Entry 4

I found Alice in his room this morning. God knows what she was talking to him about. For someone so perky, she sure could turn into a she-bitch in a millisecond. I mean, I just wanted to get dressed alone. We weren't roommates anymore. It's no big deal.

Ok, I'm lying. It would have been a huge deal if she saw me get dressed. Alice equals tenacity in the English dictionary.

But she didn't which was good. I shouldn't have been surprised that she'd camp out with him, during her exile. I mean, his open door was a huge neon sign that said, IN HERE ALICE.

He would be so embarrassed if he caught me earlier. He looked so cute. He probably didn't realize I would have to pass his door on the way to the bathroom. Or else he was expecting to wake up before me. I'm glad his plans didn't work out. He actually kept his door open. He really was watching out for me.

In his sleep he was the old Edward. The person that made my skin crawl with a look. God, I could have stared at his sleeping face forever. Too bad there is no stopwatch for stopping actual time.

A/N

Again, please remember this is in Journal format. Think about how you write in your diary.

review. Bella doesn't write unless you review......


	5. Chapter 5

A/N own nothing.

Journal Entry 5

It was a good day. It was a great day. And then it had to fucking end.

Edward not only joined me, well us, for lunch. He walked me to class and then even walked me to the library. He told me he was just on his way to his frat house. But he was lying.

He was too nervous to be telling the truth. Besides after watching him for years, I found his tell. The tell that says he has nothing if playing poker. The tell (I hope) I only know about. When he's nervous or lying, he runs his fingers through his hair more than once within a one minute period.

Oh My God. I am pathetic.

It was such a great day. I laughed. I didn't think I would do that. How stupid is it to think you would never laugh again. I guess I'm stupid.

It was nice to laugh. It was nice walking next to him. He made me nervous. God I hope he didn't notice that. But he always made me nervous, ever since the first time he touched me. He probably never noticed. Didn't even phase him. He tucked some hair behind my ear, sophomore year. That was a good day too. No. A great day.

The thing that really sucks, it that, I like the library. I like working there. I like who I work with. I've been working there for three years. It was my place. My spot. I never even fucking noticed him until I couldn't not notice him. I was so pissed and paranoid that I even looked up his checkout list. He hasn't checked out a book in a year. A fucking year. Why the fuck was he checking a book out now.

Thank God for Angela. I saw him coming and I bolted. I actually hid in the girl's bathroom. What was he thinking? What was he trying to do? Why the hell was he even there?

What the hell was I doing? I was hiding. Hiding from him. Hiding from the world. Hiding from…

Well shit. It's the campus library. Can't really restrict student access.

I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling wrong. All of this is just wrong.

I am so glad to be back in my room, but I hate it at the same time. I can keep still. I can't say how many times I've crushed this frickin pen in my hand. I pressed so hard, I have ink marks on my palm.

I almost wish I had a needle. Then I could just pop. Pop, like the over inflated balloon I feel like.

I thought about it. I'm not drastic. I don't do drastic things. But a needle would work. A needle to my skin would help. A new pain would overcome me. A physical pain.

I could deal with that. That's easy. A band-aid. A skinned knee. A scraped elbow. A pricked finger. The pain is hard. Fast. Intense. But then a band aid covers it. It fades. The scar forms. A needle prick. Maybe that will help.

It's kind of odd. I found a needle in the sewing kit my mother gave me 3 years ago, but as I was staring at it, I heard it. Different song. Different melody. Same composer and suddenly I don't want the needle anymore.

He was far better than any needle, or knife or sword. And he was across the courtyard. He was down the hall. His music was……

Beautiful

He was....

There.....

A/N again, remember this is a journal. It strictly give Bella's POV in a completely abstract way, like all diaries should be.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N Wish I may, wish I might, own these characters I write tonight.

He was asleep on the floor below me. I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling to loud. Last night was just what I needed. After that asshole intruded on MY SPOT, I was so desperate to make it go away.

The feel of his eyes on me.

The touch of his disgusting fingers.

I was warped enough to actually want to hurt myself.

How fricking crazy is that.

But his notes carried to me. Just like Phantom of the Opera. I googled it while I was working. I memorized it actually. Before He came in.

_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you_

_Hear it, feel it. Secretly possess you._

Hearing his music was a beacon. I am so glad I followed it.

I was a wreck. Anyone else would have wanted me to explain. Forced me to talk.

_Why was I crying? What happened? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me._

He didn't. He asked me what he could do. I asked him to play and he just … did.

He was still asleep when I woke up. I wish I could say he looked peaceful. He had that crease between his eyes that always told me and everyone else that knew him, he was worried. That he was stressed.

I could only guess that I was the reason for the crease. It's not like Edward and I are close friends. Even if he was always in my dreams.

I knew I was right when he tried to talk to me when we were heading back to our rooms. The fairytale fantasy ended the second he mentioned, "What he saw"?

What did he see?

What did he think he saw?

If actually had a brain, I could have totally played it off. But he was looking at me with those moss green eyes.

I couldn't lie. I couldn't cover up. I had no brain power to fake a lie. Besides, I suck at lying. So I asked him not to ask.

I begged him.

And he agreed. And all was right with my crazy world.

And then he fucking talked to Alice. That was the only explanation. I love Alice. She is my best friend. Will always be my best friend, but after four years Alice's priorities only revolve around Jasper and shopping. There is no fuckin' way she would have pick up on me and what….

I was out of her radar. Under her scope.

He had to have told her. He told her. He told her. And now even his music won't bring me back to him.

A/N If you are confused, that's what reading a diary will do to you. This takes place between chapter 8 and chapter 9 of my main story Stages. Now you have a glimpse of Bella's mental psyche.

Alast read and review. A Journal can only be written when the author knows everyone wants to read it. It's total supply and demand.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Same old Same old, these characters all belong to SM,

I said it. I said the words. I actually said the words out loud. Last night. To him. To Edward. And I just wanted to take them the fuck back. I don't even know why I told him. It's not like we are close. The last couple of days was the most we've talked in months. I should never had said anything.

I should have told Alice. I wanted to get this, this cement block off my chest. I would have told her, if she hadn't pushed me. I know she was trying to help. I know she cares about me and is worried, but she should have known better.

Maybe that's why I said it to Edward. He didn't push. He didn't argue. He didn't beg. He didn't even touch. His words outside the library were. Damn. Why did he have to do the perfect things and say the right words. Fuck. How am I ever going to explain this to Angela?

Then last night. On his bed. With him holding me. The words just came out. And I can't take them back. I can't pretend I didn't tell him. He told me I was beautiful. I can't even wrap my head around those words right now. How can he even think that. But shit. Now when I see him, every time I see him, all he will ever see is the girl who was raped.

It's not like the girl who has cancer, where everyone still rallies around her and offers encouragement and solace. It's not the girl who's parents have died and they get pseudo-adopted by all their friends parents.

No. I will now be looked at as the girl who was raped. I'll get the pity eyes. The awkward conversations. The tentative touches, like I have leprosy and touching me will somehow infect them. Or my friends just won't touch me at all. There is no hallmark card for the girl that was raped. And now that is all Edward will see when he looks at me.

A/N Here is another journal entry for all you wonderful awesome people out there. To give you some reference, this entry comes after chapt 10 in Stages. Most of the time a journal entry will be posted after a chapter entry, unless I really want to shake things up. So read read read Oh and also review.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N Know you've heard it, but I say again... I don't own this

He was sweet. He was kind. He said all the right things. And I so much want to believe him. I want to believe that he truly thinks I'm beautiful because he said it. I want to know in my heart that he looks at me with out pity… after everything I've told him. I want to believe so bad.

He followed me after class. He waited. He was patient. He listened. He said I was still beautiful. And He still sat next to me. The beautiful bronzed haired boy was still sitting next to me after my disgusting mind altering confession.

And then he asked for my help tonight and I couldn't refuse. I wouldn't refuse.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Frickin' fuckity fuck.

I don't want to go. I don't want to go. I don't want to go. I really really really don't want to go.

Okay. So I don't go.

Alice kills me.

No. Rosalie kills me. Alice just helps her hide the body. She'll know the perfect spot with the spookie little voodoo she does. And then my sorority sisters will cry. The campus will mourn, only as a collective, because I haven't affected enough souls for them to remember my name when next month is upon them. My dad will move to NY because he is THAT kind of dad and cop and my mother will melt.

Maybe I shouldn't be writing this high on peach schnapps and vodka. Follow it with cranberry and a swig of OJ and it's a dorm made sex on the beach.

It's so wrong.

It's a pinning.

Rosalie is getting pinned.

Pinned by the love of her life.

And

I am in my room mixing vodka and schnapps and cranberry juice and OJ in my mouth and not in a glass.

One or two. I tell myself. I need it.

Edward told me I was beautiful. He asked me for my help. That got me home. The velvet that was his voice and his word helped my feet find my room. That held me still and calm and comforted…

Until I remembered

Remembered where we were going tonight.

The memory infused my nasal cavity.

The foggy remembrance of the music

And the sound

And the smell

And the ripping…..

Pulled me back.

Liquid courage. That's why they call it … liquid courage.

With that courage, I will get to see his emerald eyes before my memory takes me hostage.

I would do anything to see that green again...

A/N If you are confused? Don't be. Read Stages and you'll figure it out. I got a review today and I can not tell you how that affected me. Motivated me. It helped me make my fingers work again. Thank you Thank you Thank you.

Read.

Review.

I need to hear it.


End file.
